


He is old.

by Little_buttercup



Series: Nereval and Nerevar [17]
Category: Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind, Elder Scrolls Online
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-09
Updated: 2017-11-09
Packaged: 2019-01-31 06:58:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12676740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Little_buttercup/pseuds/Little_buttercup





	He is old.

They had stopped for a moment, and Nereval peered into the distance. A house sat on the Horizon, and she turned to Nerevar, “Who do you think lives up there?” She asked, watching him until he came to stand next to her.

 

“An old hero,” He commented, “I suppose there would be no harm in going to meet him, before we head off to Almalexia.”

 

She nodded and continued on the worn path, heading towards the house. As they entered the gate, she marveled at the shrubs, each perfectly trimmed and every flower was perfectly placed, there were no weeds, the path was well kept and it was as someone had recently been out to tend to it.

 

They both approached the door and with Wraithguard, she rapped on the door with her fist. Her normal hand would not have made a noise against the heavy wood, so she made the right choice by using the hand with wraithguard on it.

 

A few moments later, the door slowly opened and a tall male dunmer peered out, his skin was slightly pale and his eyes a bright red.

 

“Yes?” He asked, wondering why a mer and a ghost were at his door so early in the morning, well evening to them.

 

“I heard you were an old hero, might we stay the night please, serjo? I am the Nerevarine and I would like to exchange stories.” She said, a bright smile on her face.

 

The male studied her for a moment, then slowly opened the door for her to come through. He had not had a visitor in many a year, as they had all but forgotten his name and face. Inside his house were many trinkets, From Dwemer to orcish, each having their own story to tell and Nereval marveled at each of them. Some had collected little dust, as their owner tended to them often. The house smelled of old books, a nice musky smell Nereval inhaled and appreciated.

 

“So,” She heard the man speak and she turned to face him, while Nerevar was looking at something with great curiosity, “What is your name, child?”

 

“Nereval,” She replied, clasping her hands behind her back and bowing a little, “And yours?”

 

The man was impressed with her mannerisms, so he saw no point in hiding who he was from her.

 

“I am called Gals’sen. I am the vestige from ages past, my life prologue by my vampirism.”

 

Her eyes widened, not because of the fact that he was an ancient hero, but because he was a vampire.

 

“Do not be alarmed, Nereval. He means no harm.” Nerevar spoke up, having now moved to a new object.

 

“I… I don’t think I have ever met a vampire who doesn’t want to kill me.” She admitted, to which Gals’sen laughed.

 

“Have a seat around the fire, I will fetch us some wine.” He said, waving to the chairs in the middle of the room while he went off into another room.

 

Nereval carefully dropped her pack and sat down, looking around with curiosity. Nerevar had yet again moved onto something else, but his face was crestfallen. He could tell some of these artifacts had come from Almalexia, Sotha Sil and Vivec, their lingering energies were fading but he could still feel them. He honored the fact that this Gals’sen had done so much for Morrowind, as by the look of the swords, bows and staffs lined up in the other room. He was a long retired hero, perhaps hanging his weapons up when his wife had died, as there was still a feminine touch to the place.

 

Gals’sen came back through with two glasses in hand, and handed one to Nereval. She sniffed the glass to make sure it wasn’t truly blood before she took a sip.

 

“So you are the fabled Nerevarine?” He said, lounging into his chair and crossing one leg over the other.

 

She nodded, “I guess you were suspecting something spectacular, like lightening bolts coming from my eyes.”

 

“If you could do that, I will be highly impressed.” He smirked and took a sip of his glass, watching her from over the brim.

 

She rubbed her arms and smiled sheepishly, “Did you really defeat Molag Bal in combat to get your soul back?”

 

“I did,” he placed the glass down onto the table, “As a many other things. I have been all across Tamriel, though I feel very old. Time may have stopped for my body, but I can feel it in my soul.”

 

She sighed a little, if this is how a centuries old Vampire feels, how will she feel after one hundred years? It was suddenly a daunting idea and she took a bigger gulp of her wine to chase the feeling away.

 

“Tell me about your adventures.”

 

They spoke long into the night, exchanging tales, laughing, crying, until the bottles had run dry and both had retired to bed. To Nereval, it felt like she could see the world in a whole new light. He had shown her most of his possessions, had spoke with Nerevar and gave her tips on how to fight. To Gals’sen, he felt sorry for the girl, she was thrust into this just as he was with his own time. She had many difficult tasks ahead, so he extended his hand to her in friendship, offered his house as a refuge to her whenever she was passing by. It was the least he could do, he could see how much she was struggling with the way her shoulders slumped once she was relaxed, with the dark circles under her eyes and the weariness in her voice when she spoke. He could remember that feeling, of having so much to do with such little time. It saddened him to know that she was put through so much at such a young age, yet he was lucky to have some practice under his belt.

 

Gals’sen had seen them off when dawn came, clasping Nerevars arm and wishing him luck, then giving the girl a tight hug. He was reminded of his own daughter, who he had never seen again after his soul was torn from him, and he could not help but feel as if he had to do what he can to look after her.

 

He watched as they made their way out of the old gate, then returned into the house where the sun could not reach him. Perhaps they will meet again, in the years to come. He had enjoyed hearing her tales, and he waited patiently for her to return to tell him more of her travels.

 

She would not return for many a year, and when she did, she had many, many tales for him to hear.

 


End file.
